


Oleander Tea

by imiriad



Category: End Roll (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Canonical Character Death, Child Abuse, Eventual Underage Sex, M/M, Murder, Pre-Canon, Underage Smoking, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 20:33:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8071765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imiriad/pseuds/imiriad
Summary: Long before the dream began, there was a medicine shop. A quiet boy and a foreign doctor, easing each other’s pain. It was only natural they’d leave each other more wounded than before. They were both killers, after all.





	1. Green Tea

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is about a relationship between Russell (13/14) and Kantera (27), and there will be underage sex later on. I'll issue another warning at that point, but please be forewarned.

_Priest and Sister Claimed in Church Fire._ When Russell awoke the morning after, similar headlines were plastered all over the news. _Oh,_ he thought. _So they died, after all._ He had gone to school in the morning, idly waiting for the full details of the crime to come to light. Surely someone had to have seen something. Would the police come straight to the school to question him, or would they head back to his house and demand to speak with his parents? Russell thought of his dad's temper, how he always complained about what trouble Russell had gotten into _this_ time, either with a fist or a belt. He hoped for the former.

“Oh, man, Russell!” Chris's voice. The loud boy plopped into the seat in front of his, and immediately spun around to face him. “Did you hear about the fire last night? That's the church you've been going to, isn't it? Damn, I really thought about checking it out one of these days!”

Russell gave him a small nod. “...Yeah. I can't believe the whole church went up in flames.” And so quickly. Of course, he'd lined the front door with extra fuel to make escape that much harder, but he hadn't expected it to spread quite as quickly as it did. Still, both of those siblings died, the church was now a blackened wreckage, and Russell found that nothing inside of himself had changed.

His hand itched. Russell rubbed at it lightly with his knuckles, but Chris's eyes caught the action immediately. No matter what anyone said about Chris, one could never claim that he was unobservant. Where he hailed from, a careless kid was soon to be dead or worse. Russell moved to cover the bandages, firmly wrapped from palm to wrist. “Your shitty dad, again?” Chris asked, voice low, like it was a secret. Russell almost wanted to laugh. Everyone was so aware of what was happening to him that a band-aid on his face or wrapping on his arm was just another bruise, another cut, _another_ sprained wrist. No one realized that underneath his bandage was a wound all of his own, the painful consequence of a spill of gasoline onto his jacket sleeve.

Russell just shrugged in reply, and class started soon after that. No cops peeked their head in the door. No announcement or hushed whisper told him to report to the principal's office. It made sense, Russell thought at the time, for his prayers not to be answered. If there was a God, he wouldn't be forgiven for last night's crime. More likely, there wasn't any God at all.

So Russell grit his teeth, and for once, headed straight home. There was still a post-game dungeon to beat in the game Chris had lent him three days ago. Maybe it would be better, for the police to question him in front of his parents. Maybe then, they could see the hatred they'd fostered in him. He could tell it frankly in those circumstances, that he'd set the church on fire with the intent to kill, and that he thought about doing the same to this very apartment too many nights.

But when his father opened the door in the evening, and Russell was still in front of the television, he only received the usual tirade and a slap across the face. Nothing about the police, or anything else. Cracking open his beer and thumbing the remote, Dad paused on the local news channel. A disgusting grin spread on his face as he eyeballed the young, blonde officer encouraging anyone with information about the arson to come forward.

It had been a dark, moonless, silent night. Russell wondered if anyone would.

-

It was two days later before Russell had finished the game, and gone to return it to Chris's place after school. When Mom dragged herself out of bed to the bathroom, Russell grabbed a handful of bills from the purse on the nightstand. The burn on his hand stung and itched worse than ever, but Russell was reluctant to visit the hospital. At least he'd be able to buy something to ease the pain with the cash. His intention had been to drop off the game at Chris's house, then head to the closest drugstore before it got too dark.

He'd ended up staying for dinner.

The way back from Chris's house was always a pain at night, and this night was no exception. A group of skinny young men squabbled with rising voices on the corner, making Russell curse his luck. While he couldn't make out what they were saying, their tones were close to boiling over. Worst of all, they were clustered right around the store Russell had been hoping to visit. More yelling, and then came the familiar thwack of a fist hitting flesh, again and again.

These were the type of punks who didn't care about making trouble, or who they made it with once they got started. Not willing to get caught up in the conflict, Russell made a beeline to the closest shop, hidden away in a nearby alleyway. It had a strange jade-colored storefront with foreign writing, and a porcelain cat sat in the single window, holding a large oval coin. No matter how odd it looked, the most important part was written on the coin in bold, glowing letters. _Open_.

The bell above the door jingled lightly when Russell entered the building. He'd wait it out here until the commotion died down outside. The front of the room was crammed with a chest-high maze of shelving, plastered with signs proclaiming different supplements and remedies as bowls and bags of mysterious substances Russell never heard of packed each level. He immediately felt skeptical. Was this place another front for drugs?

Russell frowned, peering further into the shop, and noted the register and counter in the rear. But no one sat watching the store. When Russell scanned the entire room, there appeared to be no trace of anyone at all. For a moment, he wondered if he'd stumbled into something worse than if he'd just stayed outside, and contemplated exiting before anyone realized he was there.

“Welcome.”

A light tone, spoken melodically, with a slight accent Russell couldn't place. He turned toward the source, and saw a slender hand pushing open a beaded curtain he'd mistaken as decoration. A man dressed in a plain, Asian-styled robe stepped through, wooden sandals clacking lightly against the polished floor. “Apologies for not greeting you right away,” the man said, smiling widely. “You caught me in the middle of a nap.”

Russell took him in curiously. It didn't seem like he was lying, but that opened up a slew of new questions. None of which he bothered voicing. The man stepped forward and regarded him intensely. “So, what is it you require, young one?” Though he looked to be in his 20s, his old-fashioned style of speech made Russell question that. In elementary school, he had a pretty Chinese woman as a teacher, one Chris had a crush on. He had been so heartbroken to find out that she was not only married, but the mother of two adult children.

Unsure what to make of the man, Russell half-pretended his reason for entering was as expected. “I'm looking for something to help with burns and bruises.” While he doubted the validity of herbal medicine, it might be effective enough for something minor.

The man weaved easily through the crowded shelving, the long sleeves of his robe not even brushing any of his wares, and stood before him. Russell was small for his age, and though the man stood several inches taller than him, it seemed the same could be said for him. He held out his hand in an equally graceful movement, leaving Russell confused with what he wanted from him. Money? A handshake?

Before he could ask, the man inclined his head toward his wrapped left hand. “You are hurt, are you not?” Oh. Russell tentatively gave the man his hand, shivering when he gently pulled at the edges of the bandage to get a peek underneath. His gray eyes flickered toward him, and he spoke, likely trying to distract Russell from his discomfort. “My name is Kantera. And yours?”

“Kan...tera?” Russell repeated, trying to mimic the pronunciation and failing.

Kantera smiled at his effort regardless. “You may call me 'doctor,' if you like.” Something about him reminded Russell of the teachers he'd had when he was very young, before he'd started skipping his classes.

He turned his head away from that sudden nostalgia and muttered, “I'm Russell.”

“Well, Russell. That looks awfully painful. Why not allow me to mix you up something for it?”

He didn't know how to take the sudden offer, but the unbearable itch starting up again made him shrug off his reluctance. “...I don't have that much cash on me.”

“Ah, no worries. First-time customers get a discount,” Kantera reassured, and, as if his words had made things final, gestured for Russell to follow. “Please, come this way.”

Russell walked through the beaded curtain, into the rear of the shop. He wasn't sure exactly what he was expected, but the somewhat messy living area was far from it. Numerous dressers, some half-opened, lined the walls, with a unique mixture of cat statues and carved dragon figures decorating their tops. There was a slightly elevated area on one end of the room that had a table in the middle. He spotted a small pillow beside it, and realized that was likely where Kantera had been having his nap when he entered. Kantera ushered him toward the short-legged table, then busied himself with gathering a few items around the room.

Russell sat on the matted floor stiffly, eyes drifting to the closed door along the opposite wall. It likely hid the rest of his living quarters. Did he run the shop alone? Or was he living with a family or someone else? Russell felt uneasy when he glanced at the opening they'd come through and noticed that he couldn't see the door at all. “What if someone comes?”

Kantera looked up from the drawer at the sound of his voice, and pulled out a small mortar. “The bell will alert us, then.” Apparently, the stone bowl had been the last thing on his list. He came to sit across from Russell, not cross-legged like him, but on his knees. “I'll need to take a closer look.”

Russell gingerly pushed up his sleeve and unwrapped the still-red wound. The skin was no longer puffy, but in several spots at his wrist where the fire had been the hottest, the blisters had formed into soft scabs.

Kantera frowned as he observed its extent, then shook a few strong-smelling herbs into the mortar. As he crushed them to bits, the sharp minty fragrance grew more intense. Kantera didn't seem to notice. Russell watched him in silence, as he added seeds from another pouch, and then, a gelatinous looking oil. Though Russell thought the ingredients looked combined enough already, forming a pale, gray-green paste, Kantera worked it for another full minute. Once he deemed it complete, he scooped part of the mixture into a small, flat bowl, and stood.

In the corner of the room, there was an L-shaped counter, much like the one in the shop area. Instead of a cash register, however, this one held a few boxes of what Russell assumed were crackers or cookies, a small bowl of colorful candy, and a fancy-looking blue teapot. Kantera grabbed the final item, and poured a splash of steaming water into the bowl. The liquid was clear and colorless, but Russell couldn't tell whether it was a type of medicinal tea, or simply water.

After letting the herbs steep a long moment, Kantera sat once more, this time beside him. He scooped the mixture onto his fingers and Russell carefully held out his arm, expecting pain. Sure enough, it ached when Kantera began to apply the medicine. But soon, it lowered to a twinge, and then, a mere tingle. Russell relaxed as he continued.

“Quite a nasty wound you have here,” Kantera murmured, finally speaking. A small note of suspicion was in his voice, though not accusation.

It would be stranger if he was evasive about it, so Russell admitted the truth. “I accidentally burned myself.”

“You should have sought medical attention immediately. You're lucky it wasn't any more severe.” Russell was used to the bland and hollow words of concern that came from adults, but there was no forced worry on Kantera's face or scolding in his tone. It was matter-of-fact and light, like it truly didn't matter whether Russell took his words to heart or not. Somehow, it made him feel relieved.

“...You're not going to ask how I got it?” Russell asked, trying not to sound surprised.

At that, Kantera raised his face, and studied him closely. The scrutiny of it brought that self-conscious part of Russell to the surface. Once again, he turned his head away from it. However, it was apparently long enough for Kantera to find whatever he was looking for. “How did you burn yourself, Russell?”

Russell's hand twitched in Kantera's grasp. He sunk into silence, thinking of the correct answer. In the end, telling the truth was meaningless, wasn't it? But lying was just as meaningless, too. His mouth opened, and the words spilled out, ones he'd only confessed to his diary. “I burned down a church.”

Kantera's movement stopped.

“There were two people inside when it happened,” Russell told him, even though there was no way that Kantera hadn't seen the reports or heard the gossip about the incident. “They both died.”

Silence, stillness. The beating of Russell's heart in his chest. Could Kantera feel his pulse quickening under his blistered skin?

Kantera asked, “Was that an accident?”

Suddenly, Russell thought of the two siblings, laughing in church with their beautiful mother. He thought of the warm-hearted smile he'd longed to see directed toward him. The white-hot jealousy and outrage that welled up inside of him in turn.

If God existed, he was awfully unfair. He showed his favor only to those who worshiped him without question, let so many people be happy... yet left others, left Russell to be beaten, and hurt, and rot from the inside out. But “He” didn't exist, did he? Otherwise, his two precious children would have never died in such horrible circumstances. Russell could still remember their desperate screams. They'd followed him all the way home.

“...No,” he said, honestly, and waited.

“I see,” was all Kantera replied. As though the conversation was nothing more than a brief diversion, he continued from where he left off on Russell's treatment. His fingers were as gentle as before.

What was he waiting for? Wasn't he going to encourage Russell to turn himself in? Or would he gently guide Russell out the door, and call the police once his back was turned? Was he afraid that Russell might consider killing him, too? No, Kantera didn't seem to exhibit that kind of feeling. If Russell had to put a name to it... He would call it resignation.

Kantera didn't ask for any other details, and Russell didn't give them. Once he'd finished applying the medicine, he redressed the wound. The bandage looked far tidier than the one Russell had managed on his own.

The remaining paste in the mortar was scraped into a thick piece of parchment, and tied with a thin string. Russell took it when it was offered to him, listening to Kantera's instructions. “Mix a portion of the paste with hot water and apply it as I did, for three days. It should help quite a bit.”

Russell nodded. He pulled out the mess of bills from his pocket and tried to sort them. “Is... fifteen dollars enough?” he asked. It didn't sound like enough, next to the cost of going to see a doctor or nurse. Though Kantera had said to call him 'doctor,' Russell was unsure the level of study he had, let alone how costly herbal remedies were, compared to their pharmaceutical counterparts.

Kantera picked out ten dollars worth of bills from his hand. “This will do. I owe you a discount, remember?”

Ten dollars sounded far too cheap. So much so, that he was suspicious. Oh, Russell thought. Kantera was going to call the police after all. Well, what did he expect would happen when he blurted out something like that. Maybe it was what he'd really wanted. To be captured, caught, and blamed. For something, anything to _change_. Three days had passed since the fire, and still, no one had come for him, not even seeking answers.

“Thank you... doctor.” Russell tucked the bundle of medicine into his pocket, and stood.

He walked through the doorway to the main part of the store, when Kantera called out from behind. “Ah, it seems I forgot to give you this.”

Give him what? Russell looked back in confusion, and found Kantera next to him, holding up a tiny jar containing gold-tinted gel.

“You wanted something like this, yes?” Kantera opened the jar, and dipped the tip of his thumb into it. Before Russell could react to his closeness, Kantera lifted his hand to Russell's face. He rubbed the ointment against the line of his cheekbone, explaining, “For bruises.”

Russell took a sharp breath, shame twisting his gut. He'd brushed his hair differently today, trying to obscure the mark Dad had left him, so that no one could look at him piteously... Kantera had locked onto it easily.

Kantera withdrew his hand, watching Russell closely. “Would you like for me to ask how this happened?”

“No.” Russell's voice came out more firmly than intended. Kantera's eyes widened slightly, then, surprisingly, he chuckled.

“Very well. I won't, then.” After shutting the ointment, he handed it over. “You can use that as needed, once or twice a day. It will reduce the swelling.”

Though he wasn't asking for any payment, Russell dug into his pocket for the remaining five dollars. Kantera raised his hand to stop him.

“If you want to repay me,” he said, “I could use a little company... Otherwise I might fall asleep in the middle of the day for real, hohoh.”

Russell couldn't understand what could be going through Kantera's head. Did he not hear what he said about the fire? Or... was the reason he had no fear, no worry, and tried to give him a break... because he didn't believe in his story one bit? That frustrated Russell more than any other thought.

“What I said before... wasn't a lie.” A hint of bitterness crept into his tone. Not like it mattered what he told him now, if Kantera thought he was making it up.

“Hmm? Did I ever say it was?” Kantera gazed into his face for a long moment, and yet again, seemed to see something in him. Everyone always complained about how expressionless and empty he was, so how could Kantera be able to glean anything from it? The words he spoke were more unbelievable still. “I believe you, Russell.” He added, “So come back, and I'll keep you company.”

Russell stared, but Kantera's smile didn't falter one bit. What a strange person this doctor was. So strange, he couldn't help but be intrigued. With a bare nod, Russell turned and left the store. What greeted him on the other side of those doors was a curtain of darkness, dimly encroached on by neon signs and flickering light posts. The stench of garbage and waste soon snuffed out the residual scent of medicinal herbs. It was like stepping into another world. In fact, Russell had to glance behind him to make sure the shop was still really there, and not a thing of fantasy.

Silently noting the location, he started his way back home.

-

Russell walked by that particular alleyway at least three times over the next few days. His feet lead him there on autopilot, and his head found inane reasons to come to the nearby area. There was a feeling in his chest, nagging him to stop each time, to take a look in the window if nothing more. The doctor looked at him, spoke to him in a way Russell wasn't used to, and that unfamiliarity drew Russell in like a moth to a flame. He wanted to figure it out, to get used to it. No matter how much he tried to suppress it, there was no denying it: he wanted to go back.

On the seventh day—his fourth pass—Russell found himself in front of the door, staring down the beckoning cat in the window. With a surge of disappointment, he realized that its coin wasn't glowing. Not because the sun was still up, but because the sign was off, and the store was closed.

Russell couldn't forget what happened the last time he'd found a rare escape from the suffocating world around him. It had gone up in smoke so easily. His head dropped. He thought of his mother screaming at him how he ruined her life, that he shouldn't have been born. Maybe it was inevitable for him to destroy whatever he touched, and this was a sign to quit while he was ahead.

Just as he was about to back away for good, the door cracked open and a single gray eye peeked out. Then, the opening widened, revealing the rest of Kantera's form.

“I thought that it was you, Russell,” he said, like he'd been expecting him. “Why don't you come in?”

Russell was looking past him, to the inside of the shop, still bursting with color and life. He inhaled the sharp fragrance of herbs through his nose and stepped forward, crossing the threshold. If the doctor wanted to invite disaster, who was Russell to stop him?

Kantera shut the door behind him and brushed past. Russell followed him through the winding shelves and noisily bumped one of the corners. At the sound, Kantera turned to shoot him a reassuring smile. It made Russell more embarrassed than the misstep itself.

“Would you like some tea?” Kantera asked, ducking into the next room. “I was on my way to prepare a pot before you stopped by. And please, excuse the mess.”

Russell shrugged his shoulders and took a look around the storefront. Aside from the lights being dimmed and an open box at the register, not much had changed. The side room, however, was in impressive disarray.

A number of boxes, some filled with jars or other containers, laid scattered around the room among tilting stacks of packets and mailing envelopes. Intersecting the clutter was a handful of pathways, one of which led straight to the table. Another went to the door for the rest of the living area, wide open today, but Russell could only catch a glimpse of the kitchen as he passed by. Even the table was covered with pitchers and bowls. Kantera carefully pushed them to one side of it and cleared a space for him and Russell.

As Russell sat, Kantera began to prepare the tea at the counter. “So, young one. What brings you here today?” Russell watched Kantera scoop powder from a canister into a small teapot—a different one than last time, he noted—and pour hot water behind it. Kantera lifted his head and stared back. “Your injury looks much better, I must say.”

The mention made Russell glance at his hand. He no longer bothered wrapping it. Though the skin around his wrist was still in the process of healing, it looked like the result of a minor burn. The ache had also become much easier to ignore. “...The medicine you gave me worked better than I thought it would.” Russell mumbled, “I just wanted to thank you, doctor.”

“Hohoh,” Kantera laughed in that odd way of his. “Well, I could certainly make use of some assistance today.”

“What is all of this, anyway?” Russell asked. For a second, it reminded him of the dark-haired dealer who lived down the hall from Chris's place. Sometimes, he'd send them out to the corner store to pick up a pack of cigarettes and let them keep the change. Whenever Russell did see into his living room, it was stacked high with boxes and plastic bags as young men sorted drugs into different units for sale. Though Russell no longer doubted Kantera's remedies, he wasn't quite ready to rule out him selling less legal substances.

The clack of the teapot brought Russell's attention back to Kantera, who gently poured the light colored tea into two porcelain cups. “I'm restocking my usual medicines, and sending refills to my regular customers,” he explained. That accounted for the envelopes, and maybe why Kantera was still in business despite Russell never seeing anyone enter.

Kantera brought the tea to the table and sat down, once again on his knees. It didn't seem very comfortable, but it was likely more convenient considering his outfit. Russell peered into his cup, and was struck by the clear and pretty green color there. “Ahh, are you accustomed to black tea?” Kantera asked. “Where I come from, green tea is far more popular. The flavor is much different... Please, have a taste.”

Russell pressed the cup to his lips. He must have made a displeased-seeming face, because Kantera's smile flattened into a slight frown. “Is it too bitter? You are still young...” He touched his fingers to his chin, and glanced over his shoulder. “I have another variety, if you would prefer to try that instead? It's a bit more mellow tasting, so...”

Russell shook his head and took another sip. The tea tasted almost savory, compared to the oversweet iced tea his mother kept in the fridge. “It's fine. Just... different.”

That answer brought the smile back to Kantera's face. He seemed oddly relieved, and even said, “I'm glad.” How odd, Russell thought. “I must confess...” Kantera began. “When I was a child, I never liked the green tea my grandfather made me drink.” He suddenly winced, then recovered so quickly that Russell knew it had been a slip. Kantera drank silently from his cup, gathering his thoughts before he spoke again. “My grandfather was the one who taught me everything I know of herbal medicine. He was a very brilliant, very skilled man.”

“Was,” not “is.” Russell wasn't surprised. Kantera was older than him, and Russell's grandmother had passed away so long ago that he could only remember her by a handful of photographs. “Is this his shop?” Russell asked.

The honest question amused Kantera so much that he nearly spit out his tea. Once he settled himself, he chuckled. “Oh, heavens, no. My grandfather would have never left his country for anything in the world. He loved it there. Why, if he could have known that I would one day leave and travel all the way here...” Kantera's lips twisted, and the humor drained from his voice. “Well, he certainly would have given me a good scolding.”

Russell was more curious now. “What's it like? You know, where you're from?”

“Very beautiful and serene. My grandfather's shop was in the mountains, in a small village.” Kantera's eyes were faraway, as if he were looking at the place in his memories. “For a long time, I wondered why he chose to live so far from any larger towns, but the mountainside was a perfect environment for medicinal plants. Though the trek up and down the mountain was a long one, people would still come from far and wide. Yes, Grandfather's name was very well known, indeed.” Kantera's tone was a mixture of wistful and fond.

Yet, for some reason, Kantera had left that beautiful place. He'd deserted the mountains that were so well-suited for his craft, to live in this awful cesspool of a city. He'd left the legacy of his grandfather behind, to open a solitary shop, squirreled away in a shady alley. For what purpose, Russell wondered, even though it was obvious. Why was his own diary stuffed in the back of a rarely-opened bathroom drawer where his parents wouldn't think to look? So that no one else would ever find it. But he still wanted to hear the answer. “Why did you leave, if you liked it so much?”

Kantera's hand clutched his cup tightly, and he stared into it. There was a long period of silence, one Russell thought might continue until Kantera changed the subject entirely. Eventually, however, he broke it. “I was afraid,” he said. “I knew that I could not stay there any longer, after what I had done. I fled, in fear and in guilt.”

With those words, Russell immediately understood.

Kantera continued. “Grandfather... was a proud and wise man, before age and illness took their toll.” He smiled again, bitterly. “Soon, the medicine could stave it away no more. It was then that I decided... I must end it for him, if he could not.” Kantera raised his face. Though he was still smiling, his eyes were dark. “Therefore, I killed him.”

Russell had never met anyone who killed someone before, aside from himself.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked, suddenly uncomfortable. Was this how the doctor had felt last week?

“Well.” Kantera's eyes met his. “Why did you tell me?” Though it sounded like pure misdirection, Russell could tell he was interested in the answer.

He searched himself for it, and only found this: “I just... wanted someone to know what I've done, I guess.” There were still no useful leads in the investigation, something that left Russell with mixed emotions.

Kantera raised his cup, and finished his tea in one long pull. “Isn't that reason enough?”

Russell considered it. It didn't matter whether it stood up to scrutiny, or if it was entirely logical. Whatever reasons there were behind an action, that was the end of it. Kantera told him because he wanted to, and Russell didn't need to look any deeper into it. He nodded slowly.

“Now, then.” Kantera clapped his hands together, dispelling the earlier atmosphere. “We ought to get to work before the day grows late.” Scanning the room, he ticked off the things on his mental checklist with his fingers. Then, he paused. “Russell. Will you take the task of addressing the envelopes and boxes for me? I'm afraid my handwriting could still see some improvement.”

Russell agreed to the job without complaint, though inwardly, he thought Kantera had to be exaggerating. While doctors were infamous for their messy script, Kantera was one unlike any Russell had ever met. He moved and spoke with an unhurried poise, so Russell was almost sure his writing would be similarly neat.

He changed his mind when Kantera brought out the order forms.


	2. Honey Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited to share some fanart of Chapter 1 from the lovely snips! Please check it out!   
> <http://snippetcuts.tumblr.com/image/155744411807>
> 
> Note: This chapter does contain scenes of abuse, so please be advised.

“Hey, Russell!” Chris looked surprised when he took a seat. “How ya been? I haven't seen you around lately. Mom even asked if I had done something to make you mad, can you believe that?”

The corner of Russell's lips quirked. While Chris was well aware of what kind of kid Russell was—though not the full extent, not anymore—his mother and most adults seemed to get the wrong impression of him. To them, he appeared to be a composed boy who was smart and well-mannered, if a little quiet.

Russell wondered if the zookeeper had thought the same about him. Was that why he invited him back? When he was younger, he used to pretend he had an older brother out there somewhere. One much older than him, a legal adult, who would come back home after all these years and take him away from his parents. Now that Russell was older, he knew that was impossible, and felt foolish even remembering it. But the zookeeper... seemed to resemble that phantom of his childhood, and just for a moment, Russell had allowed himself to be carried away in the fantasy.

The children in class caught up over the long weekend, filling the room with a squealing, bustling noise. It made Russell think of those annoying monkeys, watching him as the pole descended. His mouth twisted. He wouldn't have been able to rely on an “older brother” like that, anyway. No matter how kind he was—or maybe because of it—he would have never accepted Russell if he knew the truth about him.

Russell must have been making a terrible face, because Chris's voice rose nervously when he said, “I'm just glad you're alright, man!” He turned around in his chair to face forward, fingers playing at the corner of his desk.

Chris was the only person that Russell could consider a friend, but at times like this, Russell wasn't sure if they were even that. People weren't normally afraid of their friends, were they?

The first class of the day was world history, like always. Russell idly flipped through his book, to see the kinds of things that had been taught in the last few days he'd missed. He stopped when his eyes fell onto a brief section about the Far East. Specifically, the picture under the heading of a man with dark hair and dark eyes, dressed in the same sort of robe the doctor wore. The caption referred to it as a kimono.

Russell made it a point to stop by the school's small library whenever he did attend a day of classes. He pushed the fantasy novel he'd finished the night before into the return bin at the door, and left with a hefty tome about Japan under his arm.

Chris met him at the school gates.

“You really like books, huh, Russell?”

The librarian was always saying something to that effect, too. Frankly, Russell didn't know whether that was true. They were a convenient way to pass the time once his father came home and took his station in front of the television, and sometimes, they stirred up feelings inside Russell that he thought he'd lost long ago.

“So, where have you been going these days? Not some cute girl's place, right...?” Though Chris was aware that Russell had zero interest in that kind of thing, he also knew how popular Russell's looks were with girls. More than once, he'd offered to help him diffuse some of the attention he got, provided he introduce Chris to them. If he got too annoying, Russell could easily shut him down with a mention of his crush, which caused him to sputter and blush without fail.

Chris raised his eyebrows at him when he didn't answer. The earlier anxiousness Chris had before class seemed to have melted away since. Even when he got put off Russell for whatever reason, he was still eager to catch up with him. Maybe it was that willingness to seek Russell out, to reach out to him on days like today, that made them friends.

Feeling somewhat generous at the thought, Russell told him, “I found a good place to hang out. A medicine shop that's open at night.”

“Oh, is that it?” Chris looked relieved at the information. “Then, you gotta show me one of these days!”

“I'll think about it,” Russell said, and he did. There was a twisting knot in the pit of his stomach as he considered introducing someone else to the doctor. He had confided in Kantera, told him his secrets, and even if he wasn't going to divulge them—something Russell had no real proof of—Russell was definitely uneasy about it.

One time, when Russell had still been writing in his diary, his father had come home early from work. Russell had pretended it was a notebook for school. While his dad had no reason to doubt that, the second those red-veined eyes peered at the cover, Russell felt as though his very soul was glimpsed.

He'd nearly discarded it, for the peace of mind alone. The zookeeper's slumped body flashed in Russell's mind, only this time, a very different figure lay in its place. Russell shook the thought from his head, and followed Chris off the school grounds.

-

Though Russell had been fortunate enough to avoid the worst of his father's moods for the last few weeks, it was an inevitability that he would explode. It didn't depend on what he did, or didn't do. Russell had learned to accept this reality by now, to keep it firmly in place in the back of his mind, lest one day he be taken entirely by surprise. The sting of Dad's knuckles against his cheekbone was enough to make him cry out when he wasn't prepared for it. If he heard Russell's pained voice, a sickening smile would come across his face as he berated him and encouraged him to take it like a man.

Russell hated it more than anything. He'd rather bite his lips until they bled than give his father anything other than a quiet, sharp intake of breath. Of course, that only enraged him further. It always did.

But this time, instead of pulling his belt out of the loops, Dad's hands wrapped around the bat leaning against the door frame. More than once, it had been used to fend off men Mom brought home days before, when they were no longer welcome. And far, far more than once, Russell had imagined turning it against his father in the night, while he lay defenseless on the couch in another drunk stupor.

This time, it was raised over Russell. “Th-think you're hot shit, huh?!” Even using one hand, the solid wood sent a burst of pain into Russell's shoulder, the heavy whack echoing in the small apartment. Twice, Russell could stand easily. Three times, and it really started to hurt. When the fourth came, just as heavy, with no sign of stopping, a tiny voice in the back of his head wondered if this would be the time that Dad would just keep going until he was broken and bleeding. He bit down harder on his lip, to distract him from next hit, and to drive the meaningless thought from his head.

His dad only raised the bat higher.

Russell had withstood worse before (red staining white, over and over), had dealt more pain to others (scorching flames and crushed skulls)—so he shouldn't have made a sound.

And, he didn't quite make one. The bat changed direction and struck his exposed side. A gasp of pained surprise found its way through Russell's clenched teeth, but when it met the air, it came out as a pathetic little whine.

The blows stopped.

Russell kept his eyes trained on the ground as his father let out a breathy laugh, “Hahah...” He didn't have to see it to know what kind of expression Dad was making, eyes in twisted little half-moons, a grin of victory on his face. “See that, Russell. You think you're somethin' more than a little punk, but as soon as things get real, you start crying like a little girl. You shoulda learned not to disrespect your parents by now. But you never learn, do you? You're so stupid. _Useless_.”

His eyes burned. Not from Dad's crude words, nor from the pain, but the fact that he'd lost and had to stomach all of its indignities. The only relief was that the violence was over, and even that wasn't worth what Russell had to pay in exchange.

He swallowed hard and willed away any tears, smoothing his expression into one that betrayed nothing. Too little, too late. At least he wouldn't be giving his father any more satisfaction.

With another quiet scoff, Dad dug into his pockets and threw a crumpled bill at his back. “Get your ass out of my sight.”

Russell scooped up the money, grabbed his shoes and his bag, and ducked out the door without looking back.

On a night like tonight, Russell usually had two places to go. Chris's house, in the hopes that he'd be able to crash there in the night, or a much further walk to the local strip mall. There were a few run-down eateries and pool halls that skewed toward the younger generation. Even if Russell was scuffed up and bruised, his presence wouldn’t make anyone bat an eyelash, provided he had a few dollars to spare.

Or… Russell thought of the doctor once more. The way his hand had gently touched his bruised cheek, and the ointment that has soothed his wounds. Though Russell had appeared at the small store several times since that first day, he had never come to it in these circumstances. Kantera’s dark eyes were always so piercing, knowing, and it made him incredibly uneasy to think of him assuming anything Russell didn’t tell him, even if it was correct. Or maybe, especially if it was. Russell carefully unrolled the balled-up twenty in his fist. With it, he’d be able to spend the whole night at the pool hall until they closed at four, and even manage a slice of pizza for dinner.

His ribs ached at the thought of dinner. The adrenaline rush of the confrontation had wore off, and now the pounding, insistent ache in his chest and shoulder flared up. It was better than the burn, better than the fractured eye socket in third grade, the broken ankle he’d gotten when he'd thought he could escape before Dad was through rampaging _._

Yet, somehow, the door he swung open wasn't made of heavy glass with wallpaper plastered on the inside, but one he had been confronting more and more lately. Instead of the screw-eyed bartender's sizing him up, he met the quiet gaze of Kantera—who Russell was surprised to find at the register for once. In fact, there was another person in the shop aside from them. Russell had witnessed a grand total of five other individuals coming and going from the store, and not all of them had made purchases.

He instantly considered retreat. He wasn't sure why he thought this would have been better than the alternative in the first place. But then, Kantera gave him a welcoming smile, and tilted his head to the side. Russell was easily able to understand the simple gesture. Kantera was telling him to wait in the side room, and that he'd sit with him once his business was settled. Though it might end up being quite a while, Russell felt a weight lift off his shoulders as he let the door shut behind him.

He glanced back to the small handwritten sign displaying store hours. Today, it was slated to close at 2 am. He'd have to find somewhere to go after that, but at least he would be off the streets for half of the night. Russell had once asked why Kantera's shop opened up so late in the day. The doctor had given him a little grin and said, “I prefer to sleep in, you see.”

Russell quickly walked through the store to the side room, taking his usual seat at the edge of the raised area. It cramped his legs to sit on the floor for so long, and even though the difference in height was only a few inches, it reminded Russell of sitting on a stoop or curb—something very familiar to him.

The short, gray-haired woman Russell had seen upon entering continued her conversation with Kantera. Russell let the muffled words run over him, idly wondering if Dad had hit him harder than he thought. He couldn't make out a single word they were saying. Not until he heard, “Kantera-sensei,” spoken by the woman did he realize that was because they were both speaking in another language.

In fact, Russell almost couldn't recognize Kantera's voice now that he was really listening. The pitch was raised slightly, and he spoke at a quicker pace than the slow and languid one he used in English. Interesting.

Russell pressed the palm of his hand to his side, rubbing lightly at the sore flesh. Now that he had found some place to relax, far from his father and that shitty apartment, Russell could catalog the damage. Nothing had been broken, it seemed. It was strange, actually, that his thin body was able to withstand so many hits, when it had only taken one to bring down the zookeeper.

He thought about the bat once more, and his father's form, passed out on the sofa.

So, it was best to aim for the head.

Distantly, he noticed the conversation had ended and dropped his hand from his ribs. It was a futile action, trying to hide his wounds from the doctor. Sometimes, he wondered if Kantera was an otherworldly being with the ability to discern things people didn't want seen, or if Russell had so much confidence in him that he wound up showing more of himself than he ever would otherwise.

The notion would have made his skin crawl, if it was about anyone else.

Soon, the tinkle of the bell sounded, and the door shut behind the old woman, leaving them alone in the small shop. Russell waited for Kantera's footsteps to sound, and they did—but instead of coming toward him, they walked circles around the shop, occasionally stopping just long enough for the clink of glass to ring out.

He ducked past the beaded curtain with a handful of small jars, and set them onto the tea table. Carefully—as though in greeting, but probing, oh-so gently—Kantera drew his fingers across Russell's shoulder. The touch was light, but seemed to gravitate toward the lines in his muscle where it hurt the most. Russell hadn't been expecting it, and flinched, just barely.

The smile was gone from Kantera's face at first, then, fell back into its usual place. “Allow me to mix something for the pain.”

Kantera stayed true to his earlier words about not asking. He didn't say another thing on the subject, and quietly, serenely, mixed a fresh concoction that he steeped in a full cup of steaming water.

Russell was still frowning as he watched. Finally, he asked, “...How do you do that, doctor?”

“Upon your arrival, you were favoring your left arm, you see. I figured you must be hurt. Of course, you also didn't refuse my offer for assistance. Had you done so, I very easily could pretend to have selected these herbs for another customer of mine, hohoh.” Even though Kantera said that, Russell didn't think he would have lied over a misunderstanding.

“Hey, doctor,” Russell said. “Let me hang around until closing. I'll stay out of your way.”

Kantera lifted his hand, pressing the long sleeve of his kimono to his chin. “Ah, I had hoped to close somewhat early tonight...”

“Oh.” A fragment of disappointment welled up, one that he beat down immediately. Useless. Russell knew a lot about hopes—more specifically, how they would eventually betray you. He thought of his grandmother, long ago, the way she asked him, “Would you like to visit again, Russell? Maybe for a long, long time?” Of course the answer was yes. But she died, and Russell was stuck exactly where he started, feeling ten times worse. If it was going to be like that, what use was there having any sort of expectations?

“However, I have no issue with you remaining after I close up shop. I must attend to some paperwork that I've been putting off.” A rare sigh left Kantera's lips as he mulled over the impending commitment. “...Perhaps, with another person around, I will be less inclined to nod off whilst filling it out...”

After the doctor closed up shop. The two of them would be all alone. The zookeeper had allowed him that same courtesy, but an impulse had gripped Russell tightly until he did the same with the heavy metal pole. Russell watched the clear water slowly turn a yellow-brown. The sensation of cold metal clenched in his fingers faded, though the zookeeper's broken, faint voice did not. _Why...?_ Why, indeed. No matter how little Russell felt, that impulse had to come from something, didn't it?

The examination was better suited for when he had a moment to scribble in his diary. “Isn't that a bother?” Russell finally asked.

Kantera lifted the cup and gently swirled the mixture, then poured it through a tea sieve into an identical cup. “By all means,” he said, sliding the herbal tea before Russell, “if there is another place you'd rather be, I would be happy to send you on your way.”

Russell didn't. That was entirely the reason he was here, and if the doctor's half-smile was anything to go by, he knew that just as well. Russell said nothing, and took a long sip.

It was bitter.

He drank it all anyway. Kantera was looking at him closely when he set the cup down.

“You're very mature, aren't you, Russell?” he said.

At those words, Russell's mouth twisted into a frown. It was probably just the medicinal aftertaste, sticking to the back of his tongue. “...Do I seem that way?”

If Kantera noticed the soft hesitation in his words, he ignored it. His fingernail tapped against a small jar of golden liquid with a clink. “I forgot to add the honey, you see. Even I prefer not to drink that straight...” He closed his eyes and shuddered, as if remembering the disgusting taste.

“I thought it was a little bitter,” Russell said. “But that's how medicine is supposed to be, isn't it?”

 _Clink, clink, clink,_ Kantera absent-mindedly tapped the glass, and murmured, “I wonder...” There was a weariness to his expression, wrinkling at the corners of his eyes. His grandfather was likely on his mind once more.

Did Russell look like that whenever he thought about what he'd done?

This time, when Russell turned his thoughts toward the zookeeper, they didn't stay in his head. “I killed someone again, doctor,” he blurted out.

Seeing how Kantera reacted to that statement—brows raising high, mouth closing tightly as he took a breath through his nose, gaze settling on him, ready to hear more—drove away any lingering doubt that Kantera hadn't been taking him seriously the first time. The words poured from his throat in a rush, “I used a pole that happened to be lying around, and hit him over the head with it when he knelt down. I was ready to hit him with it again, I think, until he stopped moving... but I didn't have to. He fell over and asked me, 'Why?' And then he died.”

Kantera absorbed it all with an unchanging expression, then asked, “Would you have answered him if he lived?”

What a strange question. But Russell had been wondering the same thing ever since. “...I don't know. I'm not sure why I did it.”

“Because you were able?”

Russell shook his head, and frowned thoughtfully. His shoulder and ribs still ached, but it was a different kind of pain compared to the one he remembered. “My... chest hurt.” He rubbed at his sternum with the heel of his hand, trying to scratch an itch that wasn't there. “I wanted to make it stop.”

“Did it work?”

“No.” The only thing it had done was sear the memory of the zookeeper's dead eyes into his mind, and give him more questions. “I don't suppose you have anything for that, do you, doctor?”

Kantera laughed, but the sound was drained of its usual humor. “I wish I did.” His hands were busy again, opening the jar of honey and pushing a small spoon inside. A generous glob went into the cup that Russell had drained. “Sometimes,” he said, his voice startling Russell, “the most you can do is enjoy whatever you have.”

 _And what's that?_ nearly spilled from Russell's mouth, but it would be unrealistic to expect an answer to that. Instead, he tried to think about it on his own. The grinning face of Chris surfaced after a long moment. At the very least, he had a friend. There was one person he could rely on in difficult times, someone who would give him a place of escape, who wanted to spend time with him, even though he was like this.

Not that Chris knew what that meant.

The sound of ceramic sliding against the wooden table brought Russell's attention back to the cup in front of him.

Kantera nodded his head to it, so Russell grabbed it and took a sip. A bit of the bitterness from before was still there, but what struck him foremost and more intensely than anything else, was the floral taste of honey.

“How is it?”

“...Sweet.”

A chuckle burst forth from Kantera, but he quickly smothered it with his fingers. “Ah, was I too heavy-handed with the honey, after all?”

Before answering, Russell had another taste. The honey could have been overpowering, but the lingering taste of herbs cut through the sweetness slightly. Making the best of what you have, huh?

He lowered his head, staring at the swirling flecks in the tea. “It's good.”

-

At midnight sharp, the door was locked, and the shop front's lights dimmed. A part of Russell thought of how dangerous this situation could be, for the both of them, when the clatter of the metal gate sliding over the door sounded, and Kantera locked that, too.

But that anxiousness quickly passed. It was the same as always, an oddly comfortable silence hovering between them. Russell doubted he would be attending school in the morning, but scribbled in his workbooks anyway. He didn't care for school, nor did he believe he'd get much mileage out of anything he learned, but it was something to do. The problems in his math workbook were so much simpler than any of the ones he had to deal with in real life.

Kantera, on the other hand, was more flustered than Russell had seen before. Envelopes were piled on the table, along with carbon copy paper, haphazardly sorted into different stacks. After noticing the crease in his brow, Russell looked closer at the papers, and realized it was an assortment of receipts and bank balances. “What are you doing? Taxes?”

“One could certainly say that,” Kantera murmured, still paging though the mess. “'Tis somewhat embarrassing to mention... I'm a bit behind on my rent, and a few... other payments.”  

“Oh.” If there was anything that could make any adult rustled, it was money. Russell went back to the equations in his notebook, leaving Kantera alone to contemplate what was obviously a difficult task. After listening to a few more heavy sighs, however, Russell ventured, “Is there something I can do to help?”

Kantera looked up at him. “You're very generous, Russell, but I shall manage.”

Russell didn't like it when people called him things like that, because he knew they were wrong. But Kantera was different from most people. Rather than annoying him, it made Russell confused. “...I don't think I'm generous at all.”

“You are toward me.”

Russell frowned. It wasn't entirely untrue, but... it seemed unfair for him to be considered something so positive. Sure, he hadn't felt any dangerous impulses toward Kantera, but there was no way for the doctor to be sure of it. “You know I've killed people. Not just once. I could kill you, too.” He paused, trying to put it into words, then asked, “Aren't you afraid?”

Kantera didn't look very afraid. In fact, he looked completely relaxed, as though he couldn't be bothered to fear Russell or even death itself. “I could ask you the same question,” he said. “Yet you've drank my tea and used my medicine without hesitation.”

Though Kantera had admitted to secretly poisoning another person, Russell never considered he could befall the same fate before now. Earlier, he'd even lifted his shirt to expose the painful bruise on his back, and let Kantera rub ointment into the sore skin.

“What you did... was different.” Russell had learned about the different motives people had for killing others. He'd looked into it out of sheer curiosity over the last month, wondering if any of them would spark something. “You killed your grandfather out of mercy, because of his condition.”

“Is that really so?” Kantera's voice lowered, and he mused, “Perhaps instead of mercy... it was selfishness. Perhaps my crime was not for the sake of my grandfather, who was suffering, but for myself, who couldn't stand watching it any longer.” Kantera was making that awful, bitter smile again, the kind that warped his face. The more Russell saw it, the more he didn't like it.

“Was it, doctor?”

Kantera folded his hands in front of him, thumb brushing over his forefinger. “Some days, I'm convinced of it. Others, I balk at idea of having done such a thing.” His previous expression faded, replaced with a thin, tired frown that made Kantera look incredibly alone. Russell didn't know if it was any better. “Human beings... are inconsistent and fickle, you know? There is more to you than what I see, or what you tell me. Or what you'll ever admit to anyone. Such is true for every person in the world.”

Unsure how to reply, Russell nodded. As nebulous as it was, he couldn't disagree with what Kantera said. He expected the doctor to go on, but he didn't, so Russell let the conversation lay where it fell and continued where he left off with his work. Kantera soon did the same.

As the time to leave came closer, Russell found his eyes constantly raising to the dragon-shaped clock over the doorway. It must have been obvious, because when two o'clock nearly struck, Kantera spoke up. “You know, Russell... If you'd like to stay the night, you're more than welcomed to.”

Russell froze in the middle of shutting his book.

He remembered the first time he'd been offered a dry place to stay the night, somewhere warm and off the streets. This time was so much different, but Russell's chest tightened even as he told himself that.

“What... should I do?” he asked, careful not to show anything on his face, even as the images flashed through his head. Russell had accepted the stranger's grin and refusal for any payment at face value, when he should have been suspicious. Even if he'd been careless enough to take the invitation, he wasn't a stupid kid. He'd kept his hand tightly coiled around the switchblade he'd stolen from his father's jacket weeks before. The sharp steel had been the only thing that saved him, back then.

It wasn't normal, after all, to do someone that much of a favor without expecting anything in return.

But maybe, Kantera understood that, too. “Truth be told, tomorrow will be a very early day for me. There's a forest park not too far from here with an impressive array of herbs and flowers... I always end up gathering more than I can handle, you see. The extra pair of hands would be quite useful.”

The tension in Russell's chest lessened.

“Oh dear, you do have school tomorrow, don't you?” Kantera tapped his finger against his chin, then nodded. “Why not consider our excursion a botanical field trip?”

Russell stared. “You're so strange, doctor.”

“Shall we lay the futons out here? Yes, that's probably for the best,” Kantera muttered. Then, he laughed quietly, as if struck by a particularly amusing thought. “Ahhh, this reminds me of the school trips I experienced in my youth...” Abruptly, he stood up and shuffled toward the bedroom, presumably in search of linens.

While Kantera busied himself in the back of the house, Russell took a brief detour to the kitchen.

He slowly opened the drawer he'd seen Kantera occasionally go through (when he was looking for something to mince a particularly woody herb) and found what he was looking for. A paring knife. Small and easy to conceal, yet still deadly if used correctly. At the very least, a weapon to injure and weaken.

It'd be simple enough to slip into his pocket and keep it handy, and Kantera would never realize it was missing.

“Russell! Would you prefer blue or green?” Kantera's loud voice, asking from the end of the hallway.

Russell sucked in a breath, let it out slowly, and pulled his fingers away. Gently, he closed the drawer shut, leaving it exactly the way he'd found it.

“Blue,” he called back.


	3. Milk Tea

There had been crying.

Screaming and yelling first, faces stretched in odd ways. Grimaces and warped eyes, firmly fixed on the wingless angel. For an instant, everything stood still. That was when the panic started.

To think, only a short while ago, the hall had been filled with laughter and grins.

It was strange, the way one moment could change everything.

Something as simple as a stray thought, an extension of the arm against a small back, and a long, long, long tumble... could reverse a situation entirely.

The celebrating, at least, had ended. There was no longer any cheering and singing, no fatherly boasting over the blessed birthday girl like she was actually something special.

Now, the atmosphere was thick with tension, buzzing with anxiety. It wrapped itself around Russell and comforted him with its familiarity. The earlier thoughts of how alone he was here, the ones that said he didn't belong, began to melt away. But it was not enough to put him at ease. There was still the father—so very unlike his own—that wept for his child, pleaded for her health and safety, that...

“Help is on the way, Gardenia. You have to stay with me here! You're going to be just fine, angel... You know how much Dad loves you, right? Gardenia!”

Treasured her.

Perhaps that had been the odd taste to the food, the one Russell couldn't quite place. At first, he thought it was because he'd never tasted anything so extravagant before. He'd overheard Gardenia many times between classes, gushing over her father and his job as a chef who served celebrities around the world. Russell had also overheard the sneers she never seemed to notice, calling her an annoying bitch who thought she was better than everyone else.

How many of those people had come anyway, wearing fake faces of friendship as they handed over their cards and presents? Not that Russell had any better reason for being there.

When he set out this morning, he had only wanted to stay out as long as possible, and the lure of free food and drink was too much to turn down.

“Damn... what day is it?” his mother had asked wearily, while Russell was tying his shoelaces. He froze, caught completely by surprise. He'd been hoping to be out of the house before she woke up. As Russell quietly told her the date, her face twitched, briefly forming a scowl. “Oh, yes,” she said with a bitter laugh. “Worst day of my fucking life.”

Had Russell let himself ruminate on the meaning of those words, he might not have come at all. It hadn't settled on him until it was too late, as he watched Gardenia's father hand her a delicate cup and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Milk tea for you, birthday girl. I hope you like your party.”

Gardenia had, of course, giggled with delight, “It's the best!”

Classmates came to wish her happy birthday, praising her father's food, the luxurious hall it was held in, the giant cake front and center. Gardenia beamed like their words were the most pleasing gift of all.

Russell had to get away from it.

Yet apparently, Gardenia had similar thoughts. She climbed one of the long staircases to the final landing, where Russell had hoped to escape her and everything else. Without realizing he was there, she cradled the teacup to her chest, and sipped from it.

No one else had been around.

Gardenia set the cup down on a side table, beside the ornate vase stuffed with white flowers. The soft white petals were so delicate, Russell thought they would fall at any moment.

He had spared a glance at the tea as he turned on his heel. The milk had curdled, leaving pale clumps over top of the liquid. It reminded him a little of clotted blood.

-

His first thought was to go to Chris's place, before the realization struck him. It was something he knew well, yet had completely slipped his mind—that Chris liked Gardenia. He always frowned when he heard the girls in the corner gossiping. “They're just jealous of her,” he'd say. “She's so nice and cute. So what if she talks about her dad a lot? Hell, if I had a dad like that, I would, too.” No matter how much Chris tried to suppress it, his cheeks flushed from the mere mention of her name.

Chris had wanted so much to go, too. More than that, however, he wanted to look good in front of her, and he was worried he'd embarrass her if he came dressed in what he considered his best. Maybe if Chris had gone with him, Russell wouldn't have been able to do what he did. Or maybe, he would have seen everything.

If Russell went to him, Chris would ask about her and the party. He wasn't sure how he would answer. A new feeling stung in his chest when he thought about it. A thorny, twisting one that writhed around at each question that went through his head—

Would Chris cry when he heard what had happened to her? Would he made one of those horrible expressions he'd seen at the party, praying for her to be okay? Normally, something like that wouldn't bother him, but... Russell didn't want to be the one to tell him. He didn't even want to be in the same room as him when he got the news. It was ironic how, once Russell had gotten used to thinking of Chris as a friend, he'd done something to send it crashing down over him.

Thinking about it made him incredibly uncomfortable, the way it felt whenever there was a child wailing in the distance, and he wished someone would just make it stop. So he squashed the idea of visiting Chris's apartment complex, and forced himself not to wonder what he would say to him the next time they met.

There was another place for Russell. Maybe the only place now.

When he arrived at the storefront, all Russell met was quiet and darkness. The lights were off and the door was locked, and no matter how many times he knocked or how hard, no answer came.

The doctor was not there.

Russell didn't know what else to do, so he leaned against the window, trying to make himself as small and unobtrusive as possible, and waited. The little remaining sunlight faded as yellow turned to dark red and purple and blue, and the streetlamps came on. It wasn't much longer after that when Russell heard light footsteps on the concrete and saw the familiar figure, saddled with a number of grocery bags.

Kantera's brows raised as he picked up the pace to meet Russell. “You must have caught me as I ran out to perform a few errands I've been postponing.” Gray eyes searched him all over for signs of injury or distress, the way a doctor was probably trained to do. Russell kept his face still. “Have I kept you waiting long, Russell?”

How long ago had he been knocking in vain? Russell shrugged in reply, and stepped to the side so that the doctor could unlock his shop. Even with the bags held awkwardly in one hand, Kantera pushed the door open and urged Russell to enter first. As courteous as ever, no matter what he'd heard spill from Russell's mouth. Sometimes, Russell didn't know which one of them was more out of place in society.

As Kantera put away the items, Russell quietly cataloged them—a few days worth of instant noodles, tea, and a couple boxes of the crackers and candy that were kept close to his kettle. One bag was entirely filled with bottled drinks. The last time Russell had stayed over, he'd been astonished by the assortment of beverages stocked in the fridge. Kantera had chuckled and told him there were all sorts of unusual and interesting flavors, and he would make sure Russell sampled a few of his favorites.

The rest of the purchases were related to his work. Vials filled with oil and silver canisters with kanji scrawled across the side in black ink. Russell distracted himself with determining if they had any symbols in common, trying to make a rudimentary sense of the language.

The shock of something cold being pressed against his neck brought him out of the activity with an involuntary jolt. Kantera was leaning over him, waving a bottle back and forth. “You ought to rehydrate yourself, young one.” Swallowing, Russell did notice that his throat was a little parched. The milky brown liquid in the bottle was reminiscent of an iced coffee, but it wasn't one. Russell stared blankly at the label.

Whether Kantera thought anything of his reaction, he didn't bring attention to it. He tilted his head and asked, “Shall you be needing a meal, as well? You are welcome to anything I have.”

The food from the party still sat heavy in Russell's stomach, so he declined the offer. As Russell twisted open the cap, Kantera made a soft sound in his throat. He grasped Russell's hand carefully, grazing the reddened knuckles with his thumb. Russell suppressed a twitch.

“...I must have knocked too hard,” he muttered, answering the unspoken question.

Though he wasn't looking in Kantera's direction, Russell could feel him tense before letting go. “You seem rather troubled today, Russell. I won't insist that you divulge your secrets to me, but you may certainly tell me whatever you like.”

Whatever he liked, huh?

Russell thought of his mother's disdainful stare on his back, the way he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a pleasant birthday, the anger he felt at being overlooked, even if he was the one who ignored the date more than anyone else.

 _I did it again, doctor,_ was what Kantera probably expected him to say. It was true, and it was what Russell prepared himself to say, too. But as he opened his mouth, his eyes dropped to the bottle in his hand. What came out was, “Today... is my birthday.”

“Truly!?” Russell didn't think he'd ever seen the doctor's eyes get so wide before. Kantera let out a soft sigh and looked strangely concerned. “Had I known, I would have prepared something for you... Oh, but 'tis still early in the night. Perhaps I should make a quick trip to the mart—”

Something in Russell's chest surged with panic at what Kantera was suggesting. “No!” he said, surprising himself with the volume. Lowering his voice, Russell clarified, “I don't want you to do that.”

“Then, what is it you do want?”

Kantera never asked the questions Russell tried to avoid, yet somehow he managed to leave harder ones in their place. Questions that Russell didn't have the answer for. He thought he'd wanted to be in Gardenia's place, but the idea of actually celebrating his birthday like that, when he'd heard over and over again that he shouldn't have been born in the first place...

In the end, there was only one answer. “I don't know.”

Getting that kind of response would have sent his father into a fit of rage, incited his mother's sharp mockery, and likely frustrated any reasonable person. But Kantera was far from reasonable, so he simply smiled and said, “Happy birthday, Russell.”

...Oh.

Maybe that was it.

Russell put the royal milk tea to his lips and gulped it down. “...Thank you, doctor.”

“Hohoh, delicious, isn't it?” Kantera asked.

It was an entirely different entity from the milk tea Gardenia had sipped mere seconds before her fall, but it was pleasantly cold and sweet, while tasting rich enough to feel indulgent. Russell slowly nodded, wondering if it was one of the favorites Kantera mentioned.

Kantera's gaze lingered on him as he drank more. “If you don't mind, Russell,” he said finally, like he'd been contemplating something in the meantime, “I would like to give you something. You don't have to consider it as a birthday present, of course.”

“Depends.” Russell wasn't sure if he would accept whatever Kantera wanted him to have, but he was mildly interested in what it would be. There _was_ an abundance of polished cat and dragon figures propped up around the shop... Russell hoped it wasn't one of those.

Whatever it was, Russell noted, had to be something Kantera didn't use often. He'd opened and raked through at least four cluttered drawers of junk, before he let out a victorious, “Aha!” And it was small enough to fit inside Kantera's fist, since Russell couldn't even catch a glimpse when he pulled it out and brought it across the room.

Russell's mind had run through a thousand possibilities, but the small piece of metal Kantera dropped into his outstretched palm hadn't come up in any of them. It was... a key.

His brow furrowed, and his head snapped up. The doctor's usual smile was there, as though offering dangerous people free entry into his home was something he did every day. “There may be times like today where I am absent for some reason, or am unable to come to the door,” Kantera explained. “I would be loath to find you stuck outside in the rain or cold waiting for me... You don't have to use it. Rather, 'twould be best if you never have to make use of it.”

Russell was at a loss for words, even inside of his head. Once his thoughts began forming again, one question resounded endlessly in his mind.

Why was the doctor so kind to him?

He didn't ask it out loud, because it didn't really matter. Russell appreciated the doctor. And Kantera, for some reason, seemed to appreciate him. It was simple, even if it was unusual.

Russell tucked the key into the inside pocket of his vest. It was like Kantera said. Just because he accepted it, didn't mean he was agreeing to use it. Though it was tempting to think of having a sure getaway, Russell didn't want to rely on anyone that much. Everything eventually broke apart. That was just the way things went. No matter how close you thought you were to someone, a single action could cause an utter reversal.

His chest stung as he thought of Chris. Yet again, something pleasant would break apart because of his own actions. Russell _liked_ talking to the doctor. Though it wasn't necessarily in the same way he liked having Chris around, or visiting the church. “...Don't you know you'll only end up hurt if you're nice to me?”

Kantera wasn't the least bit shaken by the implications. “What makes you say that, Russell?”

Unwilling to examine why things ended up like that, Russell shrugged his shoulders. “It's just what happens.”

“I'm not worried.” Kantera's voice sounded the same as ever, honest and clear regardless of what it said. After a pause, he ventured, “Are you worried about hurting me?”

Russell sucked in a breath, too aware of his heartbeat. He admitted, so softly it was a wonder Kantera could even hear him, “It's... nice being here with you.”

Though Kantera wore a smile more often than not, the one he had now seemed different in some way. Larger, more curled at the ends. Kantera lifted his sleeve to cover it, as if he was ashamed and trying to hide his glee. “You know, it makes me very happy to hear you say that, Russell. Truly.”

Russell shifted uncomfortably, feeling out of his element. “...Why's that?”

“Because,” Kantera said, “I'm fond of you, too.”

Russell considered contesting the 'too' of that statement, until he saw the softness around Kantera's eyes. Reluctantly, he let it stand. “You are the oddest person I've ever met.”

The smile on Kantera's face widened with that. “Some say 'odd' is merely another term for mysterious and interesting. Therefore, I must take it as a compliment.”

What Kantera said wasn't entirely false. He _was_ the most mysterious and interesting person Russell had ever met, too.

-

There was no singing or silent birthday wishes or candles to blow out, but Kantera did insist he try a slice of honey-flavored sponge cake with his tea. Russell obliged him.

After a second serving, Russell found the words that had been on the tip of his tongue earlier. “I... hurt someone again today, doctor.” No, he'd hurt more than one. Gardenia's father had been weeping with despair, and Chris was sure to do the same.

“Oh, Russell,” Kantera said, like he was chiding a particularly naughty cat. “Whatever shall I do with you?” Despite the words, no heat or exasperation was in his voice.

Russell stared at the table, nails scratching at the skin of his knuckles. This time was so different from the others that Russell wasn't sure how to explain it. Unlike the people he'd only met once or watched from afar, he saw Gardenia every time he went to school, had a friend who adored her, and when he'd shown up at her party, no one was surprised.

“She was so happy...” With the chandelier casting a heavenly glow at the top of her head, and her serene face, Russell had the thought that wings would sprout of her back, after all—that she really was an angel. “It was like... everyone in the world loved her.”

He couldn't stand witnessing it. Not today.

And yet, what he'd done only solidified the differences between them. Surely, the zookeeper had left behind someone who would miss him more than anything. When the mother of those siblings in the church received the news, she must have prayed to God, and cursed Russell for his crime.

But Russell... The only person he called a friend would never forgive him for what he'd done. His parents wouldn't mourn their son, but the loss of their punching bag and their stress relief, until they found something else to take the blame.

It was sobering to realize.

“Doctor...” he began. “Do you think there's anyone who would cry for you, if you died?”

“Hohoh,” Kantera's laugh was stilted. When he spoke, he seemed to be looking at something far beyond Russell. “I certainly doubt it. There are sure to be those who miss my services, but another will come to fill my niche eventually. Ever since Grandfather passed away, my personal connections have been few and fleeting.”

Russell stopped agitating his bruised knuckles. “Then, we're the same.”

He waited for Kantera to lie to him, the way adults did. To say that surely he had friends who would be sad over his death. To say that there was no parent that wouldn't weep for their own child leaving the world before them. That even if there was no one else, he would cry for Russell.

“...Perhaps so,” Kantera murmured. The dread that had been bubbling in Russell's chest dispersed with those words. “Though not entirely. The thought of that bothers you, doesn't it, Russell?”

Russell frowned. It did. Even if he didn't actively want it, there was a part of him frustrated to know it was something everyone had, but he didn't. But Kantera saying something like that meant... “It doesn't bother you?”

“No.” His tone was firm at first, then softened. “The man called Kantera is meant to leave no traces behind. 'Tis... better that way, you see.” As he spoke, his smile faltered, slipping at one edge.

Russell reached for it without thinking. His hand fit against Kantera's jaw, thumb pressed to that corner of his lips. It wasn't until he saw Kantera's surprised expression that he realized what he was doing. Kantera's fingers curled around his wrist before he pulled back.

Russell could have easily escaped his loose grip, but he remained, locking eyes with Kantera. They entered an impromptu stand-off of some sort, where neither broke focus or moved for a long moment. Kantera was the one to end the stalemate, closing his eyes as he leaned his face into Russell's palm. Russell flinched. He tried to set aside the weird fluttering in his stomach, blurting out, “You were making a weird face again."

"I see." Kantera dropped his hand from Russell's. "My apologies.”

Russell took a breath. This close, he could smell past the spice and menthol of Kantera's daily medicine making. Sweat, tea leaves, and a hint of smoke sticking to his clothes. It was different scent compared to the cigarettes and cigars people smoked around his parents' apartment, but still some sort of tobacco.

“Do you smoke, doctor?” Russell shifted back, widening the distance between them.

Though Kantera was caught off-guard by the sudden question, he answered smoothly. “I do, occasionally. My grandfather took very good care of an engraved kiseru made with silver. 'Tis one of the few keepsakes I carried with me to this country.” Whenever the subject of his homeland came up, Kantera spoke with a mixture of nostalgia and sorrow.

Russell had read many books about Japan, but the word Kantera used was unfamiliar to him. “Kiseru?”

“A long, thin pipe for tobacco. When I was your age, I thought Grandfather looked quite dignified with it in his hands. Indeed... I could hardly wait to grow old enough to try it for myself.” Kantera dwelt on the memory with amusement, and tapped his chin with one finger. Suddenly, he stood, saying, “It has splendid craftsmanship. I shall go fetch it.”

Russell couldn't help but wonder what Kantera would have been like at Russell's age. Not once had he mentioned his parents, even in all of the stories of his past. Had they died or left him behind? Or was there another reason for Kantera to avoid the subject?

Asking him those things never felt like a viable option. The doctor divulged so much willingly, and never pushed Russell to talk about things he didn't want to. Perhaps it was nothing more than an effort to invite good will, so that Russell would treat him the same way. If so, it apparently worked.

“You can smoke if you want,” Russell said after the doctor, raising his voice slightly.

Besides, he was a little interested in how it all worked. He'd never seen someone use a pipe outside of a movie or old television show. Maybe that much was present in his tone, or Kantera was hoping to take a few drags anyway. He stepped back into the room with a long, smooth wooden box, and a small bundle of other things.

Kantera laid them all out on the table. Between them, the box. A small ceramic jar, a box of long matches, and a tin Russell assumed was full of tobacco were set on Kantera's side. “I don't usually smoke in the living room,” he said, opening the clasp of the box. “'Tis certainly more cozy than the bathroom, at least.”

The pipe, as Kantera said, was very pretty to look at. Along the shaft, a dancing parade of dragons unfolded in a circling pattern, traveling toward the bowl. It was delicately etched and, Russell could tell, had been polished and maintained well. If not for the slight darkening to the indentations and Kantera's story, he would have thought it only a few years old, if that.

Kantera handed it over to him for a closer inspection. “You see? Wonderful, don't you think?”

Russell nodded. It was heavier than he expected. Dense and sturdy. The end was tapered and thin. It would be easy to harm someone with it, if you wanted to. But the same could be said of any pen or butter knife.

“Alas, smoking does dull the senses of taste and smell... As such, I try to restrain myself to a few indulgences each week,” Kantera explained, taking back the kiseru. When Russell had accompanied him to pick herbs, Kantera explained that scent and taste were important indicators for unidentified plants, just as much as their appearance. Especially when minced, brewed, or dried and ground. Russell learned the differences between common familiar-looking herbs, and the warning signs of poisons when eating or drinking.

Kantera opened the tin. It was indeed full of tobacco, though not a type Russell was used to. It looked less like snuff or the loose tobacco people rolled into cigarettes, and more like fuzzy tinder. Kantera pinched at the bundle, and carefully rolled it into a ball between his fingertips, until it reached the size of a pea. “Have you tried it before, Russell?”

Russell had tried many, many things before. Sometimes out of curiosity, others out of boredom. Not that any of it seemed to change how he felt inside. “Only cigarettes. ...I didn't care for the taste.”

“Ahh, well, a kiseru has a different flavor. Milder and sweeter, without a wrapper to disrupt it.” Kantera packed the small head of the pipe, delicately topping the ball with an added bit of loose tobacco. Russell looked away as Kantera struck one of the matches, and lit the pipe.

The smoke was light, without the harsh and acrid smell Russell associated with cigarettes. Kantera pressed the end to his lips and took a long drag. He closed his eyes, looking as though he was enjoying a rare respite away from the world, then pulled it from his lips and turned his head, blowing a steady stream of smoke to the side.

The picture of Kantera, his kimono slightly loosened from a full day of running around, puffing on the silver pipe was strangely enrapturing. Russell understood where Kantera must have been coming from as a kid, though rather than distinguished, he thought Kantera embodied a certain kind of mystique. His face was more handsome than usual, relaxed in a way Russell didn't get to see often. When Kantera's eyes turned toward him, Russell quickly avoided his gaze, focusing instead on the empty box on the table.

Kantera chuckled softly. “You are welcomed to try if you like, Russell.”

He must have thought Russell was staring at the pipe with that intensity. Russell didn't correct him. He took it as offered, holding in it in the middle like he'd seen Kantera do.

“Simply breathe in slowly. Only take in as much as you feel comfortable.” As Russell lifted the pipe to his mouth, Kantera stopped him suddenly, saying, “Ah, not like that. You'll want to hold it at a downward angle.” Gently cupping Russell's hand in his own, he tilted the pipe the proper way. “Like this, so you're sure to inhale only the smoke.”

As if to demonstrate, Kantera brought the pipe higher and leaned over to take a long drag. Russell's stomach twisted again, with the doctor's fingers around his, his hair brushing against his ear. Kantera pulled back to release the smoke, and when he did, left a sense of absence behind. Russell hoped the tobacco would clear his head, if nothing else.

The end was still slightly warm as he sucked the smoke into his lungs. It tickled against the back of his throat, but it was softer than the cheap cigarettes he'd bummed off kids from school. There was still the taste of ash left in his mouth, but it wasn't quite as heavy on the exhale.

“It's not as bad,” Russell said. The assessment was enough to please Kantera, who smiled and reached again for the kiseru. Instead of letting him have it, Russell raised it and offered him the tip.

Kantera quirked an eyebrow, but otherwise didn't seem particularly perturbed by it. He did as before: steadying Russell's hand with his own and dipping down. Russell had only meant to check if that weird feeling in his gut would start up again, and whether he could figure out what it was. But as he watched Kantera's lips purse, his eyelids lowering, a more compelling question came to mind. At the last moment, Russell twisted the pipe away and put himself in its place.

Kantera's mouth was firmer and cooler than he'd expected, not anything like the tales of tender first kisses Russell read in his borrowed novels. There were no fireworks or urges to melt. Instead, it was the plain realization that he had never kissed anyone before now, and a bit of satisfaction that Kantera was his partner.

Russell had never been very good at reading deeply into other people's expressions, but the one Kantera made as Russell withdrew looked almost blank. Kantera hadn't moved during the exchange, and even now only blinked slowly. Once he seemed on the verge of saying something, Russell rushed to explain himself, “I just wanted to know what it felt like.”

“Well?"

It took Russell a moment to figure out what Kantera was prompting. “...It was fine,” he said, pushing the kiseru back into Kantera's hand. He thought better of the direction this conversation was taking, and glanced at Kantera from his peripheral. “Did... you feel anything?”

The doctor was quiet, as if deliberating. “I thought it... cute," he said. "But I suggest you not do it again. One might get the wrong idea.”

Russell didn't know what the “right” idea was supposed to be in this case, but he didn't like the tone Kantera took. It reminded him of the vice principal's office, the authoritative insistence that she knew what was better for him more than he did. The memory sparked a small rebellion, forcing words to his lips when he would otherwise stay silent. “What makes you think it's wrong?”

Kantera held the pipe in his hands, running his thumb over the winding pattern without taking another drag. He didn't react as the wafting smoke lessened, and the tobacco burned out. “You ought to be more than aware how unsuitable...” 

“Nevermind,” Russell said, trying to extinguish the surge of irritation he had at those words. “It doesn't matter.”

Kantera stared at his face, long and hard. Whatever he was trying to glean, he didn't seem to find it—he emptied the ash from the pipe with a heavy sigh, and cleaned it out with a well-practiced motion in silence. Only after the kiseru was properly returned to its box did he speak. “Do forgive me, Russell. I shouldn't have made light of you.”

Russell lowered his eyes to the floor between his knees. “I said it was nothing." He was hoping Kantera would just drop the subject for now. Two fingers slipped beneath his chin and lifted his head, coaxing his gaze back to Kantera. He drew closer, but Russell stopped him with a hand against the shoulder. “...What are you doing?”

“You wanted to experience a proper kiss, correct?” While Russell was figuring out what exactly he meant by that, Kantera gently pushed his hand aside, and finished erasing the distance between them.

The difference between kissing someone and being kissed by someone was like day and night. There was a shock of pseudo-panic when Kantera leaned in, like knowing what to expect and getting surprised anyway. Unlike the short peck Russell had given, Kantera's mouth moved against his, letting Russell feel the light scrape of teeth. Just when he thought the kiss was coming to an end, Kantera's fingers slid against his jawline as he tilted his face, locking their lips together firmly. By the time Kantera ran his tongue across Russell's bottom lip and languidly retreated from him, Russell was completely out of breath.

Kantera lingered there, with his hand cupping Russell's face. Then, he pulled back to a safer distance, tucked an errant bundle of Russell's hair behind his ear, and smiled. “Now,” he said, “if you intend to stay the night, you should go wash up.”

Russell's brain was still trying to make sense of everything that had happened in the last thirty seconds, tabulating every touch and its effect on him. How his heart was beating fast, that his face felt unnaturally warm. At a loss to respond, Russell just nodded.

-

The hot shower helped to wash away the daze, though it didn't ease his bewilderment.

No matter how many times it replayed in his mind, unbidden, Russell wasn't sure what it all meant. He knew that the doctor was attractive, but so were many other people he'd met. Kissing itself had never seemed that interesting to Russell—not until Kantera was posed perfectly for it. The only thing he could definitively conclude was that it had felt... not bad. Russell absently licked his lips, trying chase the sensation in some way. 

Of course, all the introspection in the world wouldn't explain Kantera's actions.

When he exited the bathroom, the futons were spaced further apart than usual. Russell pretended not to notice.

As much as he tried to ignore the thoughts from earlier, they had no plans to leave him alone. He lay there, wide awake, until he couldn't hold it any longer. Leaning back against his pillow, Russell shot a glance to the Kantera, who sat scribbling something at the table. “Hey,” he said, before he had second thoughts about asking, “why did you do that?”

Kantera didn't pause in his writing. He'd probably been prepared for Russell to ask eventually. “Hm, well. I did say you were welcomed to anything I had to offer.” He set down his pen and looked in his direction. “It would be remiss of me to go back on my word, I thought.”

Russell frowned. It was just that? There was a twinge of disappointment, one that Russell buried as quickly as he found. He shifted, staring up at the ceiling instead. “I see.”

Of course, it was just that. The doctor was, after all, an adult twice Russell's age. Kissing someone like that must have meant nothing to him. Kantera had taken Russell at his word and given him what he'd asked for, let him know what it felt like, exactly as he wanted. There was nothing intrinsically romantic or sexual about what they'd done, anyway.

It had been an exploration, an experiment to which Kantera was the perfect assistant. Thinking about it like that, Russell could relax. That unpleasant feeling in his stomach faded away, too.

On his fourteenth birthday, Russell had his first kiss. It didn't mean anything.


End file.
